Mystic, Take Two

Esmé's school took a hiatus recently so we decided to get the H out of Dodge and see a little more of the world. Our horizon broadening took us as far as Mystic, CT where an impressive aquarium, quaint downtown and a little living history, not to mention a hotel avec indoor pool guaranteed us some family fun.



K and I visited Mystic some years ago. It was during that era where we could wake (on our own volition) some random Saturday, linger over breakfast and then and only then decide how we might fill that bottomless chasm of free time that lay open before us. Road trip! And why not? There were no naps to juggle, snack times to manage, bedtimes to honor. We were living large. We were going to Mystic.



Three hours later we found ourselves rather underwhelmed by the boaty little hamlet. It was damp. A little tattered. And a bit too eager to cash in on its Mystic Pizza, five-minutes of infamy. Skipping the pizza we had some lack-luster chowder at a place called Bartleby's. We decided to skip the Seaport Museum, a crucial mistake in hindsight. And after wandering around the waterfront we hopped back in the car and onto 95 for the trip back home. If only our future selves could have convened with our former selves, we would have at least insisted we squander a little of that pre-baby freedom at Foxwoods.



Anyway, we decided to give it another go, and I'm so glad we did. Esmé particularly enjoyed herself, so much so that she's planned a return trip that includes her cousins. She's all packed and ready to go.
The town itself is much improved and down-right quaint. Bartleby's is still there, but appears to have received the Gordon Ramsey treatment. The aquarium was impressive with Beluga whales, lots of playful seals and more. You'll notice we didn't take a single picture there. It was a madhouse. The February vacation brought throngs of kids and managing our two in a darkened museum with a labyrinthian floor plan was about enough for us to handle. The Seaport Museum was even more impressive and had, in anticipation of the break, prepared a host of activities from crafts to demonstrations of games from way-back when. Esmé was particularly taken with the whole living history scene. She visited the printshop where she was able to operate the press. Learned about the art of coopering. Explored some boats including an old whaling ship! A side trip to Stonington proved worthwhile with its charming lighthouse-- I swear we could have been on the Irish coast.



Oh and the pool? I think the Sound would have been balmier. The seal tank warmer. Esmé didn't seem to notice. But Esmé can't swim unassisted so we took turns just grinning and bearing it while chaperoning her from the chilly end to the even chillier end. Theo, on the other hand, demonstrated much greater presence of mind. He didn't get any further than one big toe and spent the duration poolside on a lounge, swaddled in a towel and in the arms of the more fortunate parent.

She Who Shall Remain Unnamed

So we figured it was high-time we got ourselves a cat. Esmé has been asking and asking. And I must admit, though I wanted it, my heart was still heavy from losing K and R. Plus it's not like we don't have plenty of little creatures nipping at our ankles here, requiring of us food, love, trips to the doctor and waste management. Not to mention how during any given night there is always the possibility of being woken up, actually two possibilities, and did we really want to add a third?

Yet Esmé kept asking. And every time we went to a friend's house with pets, I'd marvel at how well Theo got on with animals. I wanted to encourage that. And, perhaps the most compelling reason of all, I simply missed having a cat in the house (and the two-week stint babysitting the preschool guinea pig over the summer didn't quite fill the void).

So over the Christmas break we took the plunge. And it really did feel like jumping into a great unknown. After 15 years with the same animals you just don't know what you're going to get. We had a few criteria, she had to be a she, we wanted a kitten but not a new kitten, 6 mos. or more would be perfect. Plus it would be great if she were black because we already had a name for a black cat all picked out: Bête Noir, for short we'd call her Betty. At the shelter we literally had our pick of the litter (only no Bête Noir).

It was love at first sight, at least from Esmé's end. She and the little grey cat (6 mos. old female- perfect) took to each other immediately. We being grown-ups who need to over-think every decision, managed to draw out the visit to a multi-hour affair asking and re-asking Esmé, "are you sure?" and "is she really the one?" I think we were twice bitten, still shy.

So we took her home.



And then we couldn't seem to name her.

First she was Luna Cappella.

Then I remembered that our babysitter had a chihuahua named Luna who went missing over the summer. Didn't seem right to use that name.

Then she was Tartine. Then we went to a family function where the name went over like stale toast. Scratch that one.

Esmé wanted to call her "Ow." Now I'm all about nurturing her self-esteem and all, but there are limits.

So then she suggested "Owl." But we gave a hoot.

I wanted to call her "Gris-gris," a voodoo amulet that brought luck and warded off evil. This amulet was also said to function as birth control-- score! Esmé was game, Kristopher was not.

Kristopher wanted to call her Cat Woman. No.

Some time online generated serious contenders like "Gracie MacIntosh" and "Concetta Ferrari"

Unabashed Francophile that I am, I suggested Lutèce for the Roman incarnation of Paris. Thumbs down for being overly complex.

Grandma came up with some good ones, too, "Eartha Kitt" (get it? Kitt? Kitten?) and "Pewter"

Nothing seem to fit this kitten who was fitting in just famously. She really was and is. She was an instant member of the family. Tolerating the chaos that comes with sharing a home with a preschooler and toddler. She plays right along with them, then happily curls up in our laps at the end of the day. She doesn't seem to mind when Esmé scoops her up and carts her around. And though she eyes Theo with an air of apprehension (she's no dummy, she knows he's the loose cannon of the household) she and he have developed a bond that can only form between the one who occupies the high chair and the one who's circling below.

I can't help but feel Rosie and Kallyope were somehow behind our finding each other. She has Kallyope's green eyes and bone structure and Rosie's silvery coat. Personality wise she is her own cat, though. Rosie and Kallyope lived most of their lives in a house of grown-ups. They tolerated the intrusion of small humans beautifully, but I don't for a second believe it wasn't hard on them. And I couldn't have asked for more from them. This cat, however, is wired for kids, and I am so relieved. She loves the hustle and bustle that defines TLGH right now. It's a perfect fit, so perfect that I can't imagine we didn't get at least a little help from above.

So she did not remain unnamed. We call her Sylvie. Esmé's name if we didn't call Esmé Esmé. And Theo's name if Theo wasn't Theo. And in so doing we've truly welcomed her into the fold as our third (and final) ankle biter.

Previously on The Little Grey House...

So. Theo. He's walking, of course. Has been since 17 months. And pretty much as we expected, he's gone from toddling to tight-rope walking in no time. That learning curve was short indeed. He doesn't just run, he sprints. He doesn't just climb, he scales. He's able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. You get the picture. No sooner am I at the counter busying myself with sharp objects do I hear the drag and scrape of a chair being pushed across the kitchen floor. In seconds flat he's at my side assuming (without asking, of course) the role of sous chef. Suffice to say, he gets into everything.

I'm often asked, is there a difference between raising boys and girls? I don't know. There is a difference between Esmé and Theo. That I do know.

He loves all things electronic. From operating the remote control (something Esmé still can't do) to removing the batteries from it. We finally had to password-protect our computer because I was tired of finding my files renamed. He turns on our music system and then turns it off again. On. And off. On. Off. I love him. He is my son. But it is down-right irritating.

He loves tools. And plays with his toy versions often. One day when K was fixing something and using his screw gun, Theo ran off to retrieve his toy drill. I was impressed he made the connection-- especially since his is bright red and yellow plastic.

By this time I was maintaing a steadily growing list of Esmé's burgeoning vocabulary (see right, I'm too sentimental to even take it down). Theo is communicating and has made some great progress as of late, but to keep a record of his "words" would be futile. For the most part he's able to mimic intonations really well. "Uh-huh" "Mmm-mmm" "Nnnnn"-- that's the extent of it. And it's hard to get him to open his mouth while speaking. He'd make a really good ventriloquist. Yet there are three words he's nailed: Mom, Dad, and Esmé. Yes, he says "Mom," not "Mama" or "Mommy," and he delivers this word with force, gusto and always a slight whiff of impatience. "Mom!" he cries and I swear he's suddenly turned fourteen.

He's a love though. Cuddly when he's willing to hold still for more than a nano-second. And lots of fun. He loves music and has a whole repertoire of songs he can sing. Of course the lyrics are stripped down to their purest sounds, but you can still distinguish "Baa-Baa Black Sheep" from "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" from "The ABC Song" and that's something.



So. Esmé. She's such a little person now. So full of ideas and opinions and always, heart. Her writing skills are really coming along. I noticed yesterday that she automatically pinches the crayon between her thumb and pointer, no more fisting. She's showing early signs of reading now too, her interest in it waxes and wanes, and I do want to follow her lead at this stage in the game and not force things. But she's super interested in how words are spelled and being able to spell them herself. And we're rhyming all the time-- it's rap-tastic, yo.

Lately too she's been really into adding quantities. Apropos of nothing she'll ask, "what does 4 and 4 make?" or " 5 and 2?" or "3 and 7?" etc. etc. Then she uses her fingers to arrive at the solution. I'm most amazed that the concept of addition just sort of came to her naturally. It's not anything we've been working on. And when I asked if they were doing addition at school, she said no. Oh please, please, please, God of Math, smile upon my daughter. You owe me. Big time.

Esmé asked for a nutcracker for Christmas. She loves the ballet, we've been streaming the Pacific Northwest Ballet Co.'s production (costumes by Maurice Sendak, neat!) via Netflix, and we took her to a live production as well. And thanks to a certain Christmas elf with certain connections to German woodstuffs we were able to make it happen for her. Though the ballet was the primary motivation behind her selection, she was just as likely to respond to inquiring adults who greeted her gift choice with a confused look with "I like nuts."

We've been touring kindergartens and are in the process of making the big decision between the school we're zoned for and another school in the district we can opt into. I can't believe we're here already. While strolling the corridors of what may be her future alma mater, I found myself getting teary. She's my pal, my companion. She's been by my side almost every single day for the past four and a half years-- and even more than that if we count the part where she was physically attached to me. And though she goes to preschool now, it's not every day nor all day long. I'm going to miss her terribly. Though I am very excited for this next chapter. I am.

The other day Theo managed to get himself and me locked in Esmé's room. Poor Esmé was all alone on the other side of the door. The gate that barricades the stairs was closed, so I had to coach her to push a very heavy chair from our bedroom to the den so that she could climb on it and retrieve the telephone. Struggling to bump this chair over rugs and around corners, she managed beautifully only to find herself face to face with her next challenge, a crash course in how to operate the phone itself. Esmé really kept her cool and followed my directions diligently. And with some trial and error we managed to call Daddy who offered what little help he could from a skyscraper in Manhattan. At the very least he tried to call our neighbors who, as it turned out, were all MIA. Thankfully it was a day Grandma was slated to come. Once she did arrive, Grandma passed a few tools under the door that unfortunately didn't improve our situation any. Meanwhile Theo, when he wasn't swinging from Esmé's bunk bed or wrapping the lamp cord around his neck, set himself to pushing me out of the way and wrenching the tools from my hand. Such a man.

I now know which child I would chose to be deserted on an island with.

And the door? Grandma kicked it in.

Homework, p 2

So the playroom project began back in April. With sledgehammer in hand, K took out the ceiling and some of the walls. Removing the ceiling was his idea, and it was a brilliant one. By taking it out, we now had an expansive space with lovely exposed rafters and a pleasant open feel. It also enabled us (or more accurately, Kristopher) to add insulation where it had previously been lacking. More to the point, Esme's room could finally be insulated! We had suspected all along that the wall she shared with the garage's upper level was sorely under-insulated. What we did not know was that it wasn't insulated at all! Brr. Well we (and by we, I mean Kris), fixed that. After the insulation came the sheetrock which at times required some death-defying balancing acts on ladders with nail gun in hand all while hoisting incredibly heavy panels of sheetrock into place. Again, him not me. I provided meals, moral support, photo documentation and child care. In other words, my weekends started to look an awful lot like my weekdays.

















Spackling and painting followed. Kristopher rented a paint sprayer which did in the end do the job but not without its share of malfunction, frustration and mess. Everything was coated, including Kristopher. More painting followed. Including covering one wall with "chalkboard" paint. This is one of my favorite features of the room. One entire wall dedicated to chalking to your heart's delight. Fun!

The biggest investment, outside of time and energy, was the doors. We knew in order for the room to really work we had to do away with the overhead door. What we wanted were wooden swing-out doors. A little research revealed that these are called "carriage house" doors. Such a noble nomenclature also justifies a very expensive price tag. To be fair, they are custom made. And they are solid wood. We found the best deal we could and saved a lot just by virtue of the fact that K installed them himself. He never ceases to amaze me. And they are beautiful and have contributed significantly to the curb appeal of our house, too.

After debating various options for lighting, we decided to go with Japanese lanterns of various sizes hung at various heights. For the floor we went with interlocking foam tiles. Very soft and kid-proof. We can easily take them up. And we could customize them to exactly the floorspace we wanted to cover thus enabling us to keep the walkway from the exterior door to the kitchen clear. This is where the stroller can be rolled in and kept safe from the elements. This is where muddy shoes can be left or snowy boots defrosted. K hung some hooks for coats (at both kid and grown-up level). We put up a shoe rack and allocated a basket for mittens and hats and scarves, oh my. For as much as the kids are enjoying the playroom, I'm enjoying this small feature. Just to have a place, a mud room of sorts, to manage all that stuff and to not have the space be in our living room is, in a word, wonderful.










The final feature is a long clothes line for displaying art. This thrills Esmé to no end. And we love it too. Her colorful oeuvres brighten up an otherwise dull wall. Plus there's plenty of space for Theo's contributions once he's ready.

As time-consumming and difficult as it was for us to make this happen we knew all along that it would be worth it, and it was totally worth it. The kids are getting so much out of it, and so are we. We'll know the extent to which we appreciate it come winter when we can't use it because it isn't heated. That too may be something we'll look into down the road. For now, this is enough.

Homework, part 1

A quiet TLGH often indicates quite the opposite for the non-virtual TLGH. In other words, it was a busy, busy summer. And most of the credit goes to our tiny attached garage which we are no longer permitted to refer to as a "garage." It is now a playroom extraordinaire. This has been among our long-term plans for the house and was, in our minds at least, bundled into some of the plans for our outdoor space which we also accomplished over the course of the summer.

The Little Grey House has an even littler backyard. To maximize the space we do have we wanted to create a large patio space behind the garage, I mean, playroom. As some of the space belongs to our lovely neighbors the ideal scenario was to redo the entire space with pavers. Since we pulled our oil tank the previous fall, our driveway had been reduced to a pebbly mess, so the grand plan was to use pavers on the driveway, along the walkway/alleyway leading to the back, in the back and along the walkway leading to the girls' backyard. They were completely on board (we hit the lottery in the neighbor department) and the end result was a space that was infinitely more useful for us both. What was once an uneven surface of busted up macadam is now a surprisingly expansive stretch where the kids can ride bikes, roller skate and run amuck en route to the back yard. K installed a tall fence between the driveway and the back ensuring everyone plays where they should while completing the compound effect.

Here are the best before shots I could muster up:
















And after:























We even installed a pool in the alleyway between our houses!



Now this is living.

The paver job was handled by professionals. The garage transformation was done, literally, in house. In the next episode of TLGH see how one home-improvement project can hijack an entire summer.

Stand & Deliver

I'm falling a bit behind here, so before he heads off to college, I figured it was high time I did an update of Theo's progress. And he is progressing. At his 12 month appointment the doctor told me that if Theo was not standing as of 15 months then we ought to consider physical therapy. Three days before said appointment Theo hoisted himself up. And he has barely sat down since. He's standing. Coasting. And getting into all sorts of new trouble. His favorite activity? Clearing tables. And our new deadline? Walking well by 18 months... or else. I'm sure he'll wait to the last minute on this one as well. I believe I've got a little procrastinator on my hands.

Theo is progressing, slowly, but surely with his vocab too. In addition to Mama and Dada, he says "bread." Something that approximates banana and blueberry. And "Obama" which I think is his take on Esmé. If I'm right then that would be very appropriate as she, despite Theo's burgeoning mobility, is still very much the Commander in Chief of TLGH.

Ballerina Bunny

Esmé danced in her first ever recital. She thoroughly enjoyed the experience without even a touch of stage fright. Of course a frothy ballerina costume provided the perfect incentive. The number was called "Ballerina Bunny," and the song has been lodged in our heads ever since.